You Believed
by dudeurfugly
Summary: What becomes of the hat left in Emma's car?


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, just having fun!**

**A/N: I wondered about that hat... Anyway, I hope you all aren't getting tired of my many one shots, because there will be more. Hat Trick proved to be very inspiring. Enjoy!**

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><p>Another rainy evening shrouded the small town of Storybrooke, layering the streets with an inch or two of water that danced like a raging sea as the droplets fell from bruised gray clouds. The downpour pelted across the windshield of Emma Swan's yellow Bug and created rivers down the glass quickly swept away by the wiper blades working overtime. She was headed home to an empty apartment after tending to an exhaustive day's work and not much to show for her efforts in the case against Mary Margaret. It left a lonely feeling in her heart to be going home without her.<p>

Emma squinted through the obscured windshield, hands grasping the steering wheel tightly. Her eyes traveled from the road in front of her where the rain made its descent from the darkened sky at an angle in the bright beams of her headlights, to her rearview mirror.

She slammed on the brakes fast—much too fast—and heard the tires squeal against the asphalt. Her torso collided with the console and the seat belt stung as it kept her body from careening through the windshield. Emma listened to her own panicked breaths and the sound of the wipers battling against the pouring rain. She looked into the mirror once more and was met with a harsh gaze, amusement hiding somewhere beneath it, only visible for a fleeting moment. Emma didn't dare to turn around in her seat. She could feel those blue-gray eyes piercing the back of her head.

"How," Emma said slowly, trying to steady her breathing, "How…did you get in here?"

Jefferson leaned against the back seat as if he were stretching out on a couch. He lifted the hat from his lap and placed it on top of his head, shielding those icy eyes from view.

"You left it in your car."

Finally, Emma unbuckled and turned around in her seat to face him. She thought about pulling over to the side of the road, but her hands were shaking too much to drive. Luckily, it was a mostly deserted avenue on the outskirts of Storybrooke.

"And you expect me to believe that?"

"You made it work, didn't you?" he countered. "You believed. For one moment, you believed everything I told you and the hat brought me back." Emma didn't say a word. "A word to the wise next time, though: you should, uh, _really_ check your backseat before you drive off. Never know what kind of _crazy_ people might decide to show up." He spat the word at her, rebuked her for it.

"Jefferson," Emma muttered in disbelief, "You fell out a window. I don't know how you survived, but you shouldn't have. I searched the forest—"

"And you didn't find anything. No body. No blood. Nothing," he replied. "Lucky the hat was there to break the fall. You're the one who saved me, Emma."

"Why are you here?"

"I had to come back. You see, you sent me home without my family. I can't go back there knowing Grace is still here—you have to break the curse."

"We've been over this," Emma stated tiredly. "Okay? I can't. I'm not who you think I am. You're so insane that you've created this fantasy in your head out of…I don't know, boredom? Loneliness? Please give this up. You're only going to keep hurting yourself."

Jefferson sat up, hands planted on the edge of the driver's and passenger's seats, face inches from Emma's.

"I am not insane," he hissed. "And you, Emma—you are the one who needs to stop fighting against something you know is true. You have magic. You saw my scar and you _believed_."

"Look, Jefferson—"

"No, Emma, listen to me," he told her, breath playing with her hair, voice low and dangerous. She kept her gaze away from his but felt his every word against the tender skin of her neck.

"You want your family as much as I do," he declared. "That's what you said to me, right? Your mother. And I could see it in your eyes. You were telling the God's honest truth. But for both of us to get what we really want, you have to _trust_ those words. Fairytales aren't just stories whispered to our children before bedtime. They're real. They're_ our_ history. And until you choose when it's convenient for you to start believing, you have the fate of the people in this town resting on your shoulders."

Emma let out a shuddering breath. "Get out of the car."

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Have I finally gotten into your head?"

She felt tears burning behind her eyes and at the back of her throat but she kept them at bay. She hated the laughter painted on his face.

"I'm only trying to help you," Jefferson conveyed.

Emma met his gaze at last. "You have a hell of a definition of _help_."

"I didn't mean for things to go the way they did last time."

"Yeah, _okay_," Emma shot back, sarcasm apparent in her tone.

"All right," he admitted. "You can arrest me if it makes you feel better. I'm used to cages and solitude. At least this cage will come with a view."

Emma rolled her eyes. "I cannot deal with that."

"With what?"

"_You_."

"Well, then," Jefferson said, amused. "Have any other bright ideas, sheriff? Or are you going to let me walk free?"

"Not a chance," Emma told him. "Look, if I lock you up…maybe you can help me see the truth in Henry's storybook."

"Fine," Jefferson agreed. "We have a deal."


End file.
